


Ascencion

by OccasionallyCreative



Series: Sovereignty [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Dark Rey, Dark Side Rey, F/M, Glove Kink, Movie: Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 15:27:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13149525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OccasionallyCreative/pseuds/OccasionallyCreative
Summary: Kylo Ren is summoned to the throne room by his Supreme Leader, only to find Rey sitting in his master's place.





	Ascencion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/gifts).



> Dark sider throne room sex. It had to come along sooner or later, considering I am currently stuck in a trash can that has excellent kitchen space, bay windows and a sea view. This contains references to The Last Jedi, so that's why there's the spoilers tag.
> 
> This was the original version of the first story, which eventually became a Hozier-fuelled festival of angst, but Briar ([thewayofthetrashcompactor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/pseuds/thewayofthetrashcompactor)) asked for some throne room porn, so I went back to this version, finished it and polished it up to post as part of a series. So there will be similarities between the two stories, i.e. the lightsaber fight, the banter but with a twist of the both of them being on the Dark side. I guess you could call this an AU of the AU. _AUception!_
> 
> Enjoy!

“Supreme Leader summons you,” says a faceless stormtrooper, marching past the threshold of the chamber. Kylo Ren smoothes back his wet hair, narrowing his eyes. Water from the sonic spatters the ground around his feet. 

He’s back. So soon. The Supremacy has been in Crait’s orbit since the intel had come through. Both parties waiting for a strike from the other; Supreme Leader had departed with General Hux to negotiate fuel supplies. An intention to politically harpoon the Resistance and quicken their surrender. 

He wasn’t expected back for a week, and only two day cycles have passed. 

Kylo tamps down a tremble in his spine, rolling his shoulders and clearing his throat. 

“I understand,” he says over the sound of the still running water. His senses coming back to him, it feels unbearably cold. He adjusts the temperature settings, and the heat burns his skin.

“The Supreme Leader summons Kylo Ren,” says the trooper. Kylo lifts his head.

“I understand,” he says, slower this time. A third time, the trooper repeats the command. Kylo sighs, and closes his eyes.

The signs should’ve been there from the start.

“Of course,” he says, shaking water droplets from his hair. He waves his hand, scratching his temple under the water. “Tell the…  _ Supreme Leader _ I’ll be with him.”

He pauses.

“Then return to quarters.”

“It will be done, Master Ren.”

The door slides closed and Kylo Ren steps out from the shower unit, water dripping in rivulets down his skin, over his lower back and thighs as he pads barefooted into the main room of his quarters. He dries himself, pulling on his trousers, his tunic second. The hooks and eyes take numerous attempts to click into place, his bare fingers trembling as he bounces on the balls of his feet. He swipes his hair out of his eyes. Picks up his gloves and saber on the way out. Clips his saber to his belt and tugs on his gloves. 

His mask is some crumbled pile of dust and people look at his exposed face with fear. The traitor, now a  _ Jedi _ , sliced his face open and the scar betrays the defeat.  _ Supreme Leader _ holds it over him at every chance.

Shaking his head, Kylo walks quickly. His fists clench tight, his arms swinging at his sides. At the end of the corridor, there stands the turbolift, a direct route down towards his master’s chambers. Entering inside, punching buttons, he stands in silence as the turbolift jolts and moves, lights of the ship flashing intermittently over his face.

Expecting him, the Praetorian guards give him no heed as the doors open. He walks rapidly across the bridge. The ship’s engines hum distantly below. He crosses the high arched entrance into the throne room. He comes to a stop.

There is no Praetorian guard here as they usually are. Usually, they stand in form around the black throne that reaches high into the chamber ceiling, the black of it spreading over the chamber floor. Only one person is here.

Kylo’s breaths harden. He cocks his head.

“Stormtroopers,” he says carefully, approaching the throne, his hand sliding towards his saber, “are not your messengers.”

She, little desert rat, sits in his master’s place. Her left leg is thrown over the arm of the throne, her limb gently swinging to and fro. Her whole body is sunken down, scrunched within the seat. In her fingers, there’s a fruit that bleeds red. She scoops out its innards with her nails, hooking its flesh with her fingers, her skin stained crimson as she lifts the fruit to her mouth.

She runs her forefinger over her bottom lip, tilting her head. Her eyes glitter.

Her returning smile is laconic, her words spoken with a lazy, amused sigh.

“Just target practice.”

The red juice spills onto the cushion of his master’s throne. Kylo takes a further step forward.

“Get up.”

“How’s the training going?” She raises her chin as she speaks, lips stained with the fruit. Her bottom lip looks made to be bitten.

Vines teasingly prick at his Force signature. He pushes back with jagged edges of the Dark, and he can feel her shrink back though her face remains impassive.

“Well?” she asks into the silence. Her voice, that singular word, echoes around the red walls. His eye focuses on her feet, one so still and quiet while the other swings playfully, still that scrap of innocence he long stamped out of himself and she still cannot quite get rid of. Always hoping that one day, the family that left her will return.

His lips stretch into a smile. His Knights may be developing minds of their own, Snoke may doubt his abilities, but he still has weapons. 

“There’s always that little bit of doubt, isn’t there, rat.”

This is the strongest one of them all. Kylo bites on the last word. Eyes on hers, he moves quietly up the step towards the plinth where the throne stands. Her eyes break from his, her attentions flickering over his form, following his movements. She leans forward as he leans forward, sinking his grip over both arms of the throne, his gloved wrist grazing against her thigh, until their breathing tangles, a starting and ending point impossible to find.

“Sometimes, you lie awake.” He doesn’t have to look into her mind to know this. He sees it in her. He’s the only one who sees it. When she trains. When she watches them leave for battle, her father by her side, glittering in his gold robes with his wrinkled hand on her shoulder. 

Kylo ducks forward, his eyes on hers, and he sinks his teeth into the fruit. The juice trickles down between her fingers down her pale arm in streaks, dripping off into her lap. He chews briefly and swallows back the bite, chuckling as he smiles.

“Oh, little rat. You never dreamed of a father.” He leans closer still until they are inches from one another, air lingering between them and the high ceilings of the chamber sinking down to where their foreheads touch. He draws back at the last moment, crossing his ankles, sighing. “You dream of a mother, don’t you? As well as that damn ocean. Oh yes, rat. Your mind is more flexible when you’re asleep. I see your dreams. Poor little drowning rat.”

He smirks then. Her eyes flash dark in return, black where normally they’re a brown too warm with hope. A vein throbs at her temple. Wisps of her hair fall from her intricately styled bun over her face. He lifts a hand, reaching towards her forehead to brush them away; she stops him with a Force grip on his wrist that’s strengthened by an ice-sharp shard of the Force, slicing up through his palm, over the back of his hand.

He trembles where he is stuck stood above her, his fingers half-curled in a flex of pain.

She lets go just as her foot slams into his middle. He shoots back across the amphitheatre, the space where his master holds court. Winded, coughing, he rolls onto his side, watching her through his narrowed eyes. Rey, of Jakku. Put there by her father as a test. To see if she could survive. 

Nothing on Jakku could compare to her power, Snoke had told her while she wept, still so green from the harsh desert after being found by him. A supply run to Jakku usually found the First Order parts and nutrients for the troopers in training. Rarely did it provide something of any true worth. Never did Jakku turn up a jewel.

It had in Rey.

Two years later, she sits on his master’s throne while he is the one who fights for their mutual cause: the survival of the First Order.

She rises to her feet. Her cloak slides from her shoulders. She wears cotton leggings on her lower half, a high-collared formal dress on the upper. It cuts at her hip, sliding into a slit. A slice of flesh exposes itself as she rises. It’s brief, but he commits it to memory with a quick grin.

A train slides out behind her, her leather boots thudding on the black floor as she moves down from the throne, down the step and onto the floor.

She stands, watching while he struggles to his feet. 

His lightsaber crackles.

Hers hums.

His lip curls into a snarl. Her kyber crystal, so crudely perfect, contained in a hilt of smooth black.

They charge one another. She swings her lightsaber in an arc up from her left to her right; he cuts her off in the centre with an opposite smashing blow, causing her to stumble back. She shrieks at the block, momentarily unsteady but whirling round to face him again, her skirt moving with her. Her eyes glow that same black, her chest moving with heavy breaths.

He steps to the side, moving a half-circle around her. She jabs her blade forward as he steps closer, a smile creeping onto her lips as he dodges, returning to his previous position four steps back.

He could test her. Her father is always looking for her to learn. He does test her, by turning quickly in a full circle on the ball of his foot, his crackling saber leading his movement. She yelps, twisting her saber so the blade meets his in mid-air, sparks from both their blades littering the ground. In sync. Locked.

In another life, perhaps, they’d be bathed in lilac, a mixture of blue and red (always too much kindness in those brown eyes), but now they’re bathed in white-hot red. Her face contorts with a grunt as she slides her blade from his. She ducks away from the immediate descent of his blade, switching the hilt of her saber between her hands to land a punch to his gut.

He dodges the blow, grinning again as he moves back, appraising her as he twists his saber between his fingers, sliding it between his fingers. Playing with it. She breathes hard, her cheeks lit red by the exertion.

“Hand-to-hand.” He shrugs. “That’s cheating.”

She lungs forward, swiping her blade low in response, forcing him to jump back to avoid the sweeping strike.

The crackling stops then, in the silence, and after a moment, the hum of her saber leaves the scene too. 

They circle each other. Slow, steady. Anger swirls in her eyes. It’s dazzling, in its own way, and he hates her for it.

They come to a stop at the same time. They stand opposite one another in the middle of the throne room. The amphitheatre, where plans are drawn, declarations made and promises spoken.

Somewhere in the galaxy, fire catches. 

“Rat,” Kylo says.

Rey, the heir to the stars, slaps her rival across the cheek. Kylo Ren, the leader of warriors, sinks his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head. He tugs at her follicles. She winces as he pulls her head back, urging her forward until their bodies are jammed together and her back is arched, her eyes lifted to stare, trapped, up into his. Her fingers sink towards his tunic, her thumb licking over the edge of his belt.

“Ben Solo,” she snarls.

It doesn’t cut him to the quick. In fact, it thrills him. To hear such an illicit name, spoken out loud in the place where it was banned and quieted, forever. He tilts his chin up, grinning as he grinds his hardening cock against her thigh.

“You’re disgusting,” she says, spitting out the insult.

He snorts, withdrawing from her to place his hand on her belly, splaying out his fingers. She shivers, her eyes fluttering shut. From the moment she hypnotised the trooper, this was their path.

It was their way.

After all, when you’re destined to kill one another, as his master had foretold, what’s the harm in seeking out a little fun?

“Tell me something you believe, Rey of Jakku.”

She sighs, the sigh becoming a light chuckle. Slowly, he inches his hand down the path of her toned stomach.

“You’ll turn.”

He freezes. She raises an eyebrow.

“I see you as clearly as I see myself, Ben. I see your conflict. So does Snoke.”

“Can’t quite call him your father, can you?” He pulls her close to his cock again, his other hand at the small of her back. “Still hoping.”

“What he doesn’t see… is what I see. The Light calls you, Ben. And it’s waiting.” She smiles. Yellow gold lights the edges of her eyes. “Let it in.”

His eyes blaze, heat creeping up his neck as he quickly drops his hand past the material of her dress. He cups her sex, pressing his thumb against her swollen clit through the thin material of her leggings.

She’s wet already. So quickly? He narrows his eyes. Not possible.

Oh.

He reads the direction of her eyes. The destination is the throne.

_ Oh. _

“Just… couldn’t wait…” he breathes. He slips his fingers past the barrier of her leggings, smoothing his other hand up the path of her back to squeeze the nape of her neck, pinching the skin between forefinger and thumb. She shivers, the leather of his glove cold. “Could you?”

“Didn’t know if you’d arrive…” she admits, tilting her head forward until her cheek is pressed against his chest. He releases her neck, threading his fingers through her hair as he kisses her forehead. She smells of arousal, musky and deep in her own darkness.

She turns up her chin as he dips his head and their lips connect. Softly at first, but they are two creatures of horror and greed makes them hungry, destined for a hollow satisfaction in all they do.

But what happens when the monsters meet?

The satisfaction is no longer hollow.

They descend to the floor of the chamber, him over her and her hands all over him, ripping at the hooks and eyes of his tunic, the fastenings of his belt, his trousers. She blushes like she did their first time at doing this, as she struggles briefly. She grunts, then sighs in delight, relief as his torso is exposed to her. She runs her hands over it, every pound of muscle and every scar that comes with each training bout, each mission.

In the Force, he senses her desperation for battle.

For now, this will do.

He will do.

With a growl, a sharp annoyance, he grabs the high collar of her dress and rips it in two. Tattered material falls to either side of her torso, exposing her breasts and dusky pink nipples. The cool floor reverberates through her, hardening them to little nubs.

“Nerfherd---”

He doesn’t let her finish the sentence, taking her right nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nub, drawing a sharp hiss from her, then her fingers clasping the ends of his hair and a surprised shriek as he bites on it, sucking on the flesh. He does it on the other, flicking his eyes up towards her face. A blush is spreading out on her chest, inching its way up to her cheeks.

“Just making us even,” he murmurs, picking up the tattered portion of the material, tearing the hole down the path of her stomach, listening to each snap of thread.

“I wish I’d given you that scar,” she retorts, but her voice is too high with need for the insult to take. He replies with silence, knowing that anything he says will be just as weak. They can’t lie to each other like this. It’s the same sin, and you can’t lie to another sinner.

He traces her stomach with hot kisses, picking her skin between her teeth, marking her with bruises fresh tomorrow. She occasionally fucks others, and more than once, she has called out to him in the Force and he has found her there, writhing underneath the body of one of his Knights. She keeps her eyes on him then, grinning as he stands there, eyes glinting yellow with his fury. 

That’s when he knows she wants it rough. Hard. She wants him angry.

He bites her inner thigh, another bruise and she arches her hot centre closer to his mouth, chasing him with an arch of her back. Her fingers scrabble to find purchase on the shining floor. He presses his tongue against her clit and sinks one finger inside her to the knuckle.

She yelps, her walls trembling around his leather glove.

“Say it,” he whispers, rubbing circles on her hip, encouraging her. His eyes blaze as he looks down at her. “Go on.  _ Say _ it,” he hisses.

“So… good.”

“Say it,” he demands, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

“I want…”

“You can do it, c’mon.”

“Fill me up, Ben. Please.”

He slides a second finger into her. She yelps again, a pleasurable sound caught between a giggle and a shout. She loves the feel of it. The leather against her flesh. He returns his lips to her clit, still rubbing circles into her skin. He crooks his fingers, once, twice. A slow, quiet rhythm that she rocks against.

“Faster.”

He obeys.

“Harder,” she begs.

He presses the palm of his hand against her sex, cupping her as he hooks his fingers into her wet centre, the rhythm as she demands and unrelenting. Her yelps, her little sounds of sighs and snatches of shrieks and moans, shorten to a staccato, closer, closer, closer---

He slows then, removing his lips from her swollen clit to kiss the corner of her mouth. She turns her head, her fingers brushing over his jawline to ease his mouth onto hers. She tastes herself on his tongue.

With her distracted, he slides his fingers from her wet cunt. Her legs, curled up to her chest, flop down to the ground, her whole body heavy with the abandoned climax.

She glares up at him.

Before she can say a word, he offers his fingers to her. The touch of his forefinger and middle finger hovers at her bottom lip. 

Her tongue darts out. He slowly eases them into her hot mouth. Her lips wrap around the leather and she slurs a sigh. Slowly, he strokes the pad of her tongue, slathering the taste all over her.

He withdraws. She stares up at him with a widening smile, her eyes glittering. In that moment, it doesn’t matter who dies. Who inherits. There is only the Force and the sensations that flow between them. It’s almost indescribable. Like every ecstasy ever felt, the winning of an unwinnable war. What they say peace to be; that is what they are when they’re together, in this way.

She rolls onto her stomach.

“I trust you,” she says, with a hum, sliding back onto all fours and reaching back until her hand curls against his hip, urging him closer. She gasps, half-laughs as she grinds on his cock.

“Ben Solo.”

He slides into her, so wet and yearning for him, only him. Ben Solo or Kylo Ren. Whatever the name, wherever they are, they simply  _ are _ .

She folds her arms on the floor, resting her cheek on her folded arms, humming as he gently rocks against her. She gasps, humming in approval, as he pulls out. He grabs both of her cheeks in his hands and eases them apart. She’s beautiful. As he slides into her, he bends over her, smoothing his palm against her jawline, tilting her ear towards his lips.

“Your father abandoned you.”

“He did.”

“I won’t.”

“No.”

Another thrust, pounding into her now. “Your father keeps you on a leash.”

“Yes.”

“He fears your power, Rey.”

“He does.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes,” sighs she, eyes closing in pleasure.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes snap open and in those brown eyes, he sees the hope again. But not only hope.

Hunger. 

Not just for him, for this that they have.

Snoke forced him to believe they should be rivals. He’s made them behave as rivals.

“You deserve more.”

“Yes!”

“It all needs to go, Rey,” he says, pumping into her, her tits bouncing, both of them panting, breaths tangled, as he fucks her harder, his hand descending down to her shoulder, pulling her closer onto his cock. “The Jedi. The First Order. The Resistance. All of it -- it goes.”

“Yes, yes…  _ yes _ …!”

“We’ll rule it, Rey. Together.” She’ll be his queen, he’ll be her king. She screeches her last, her walls clenching around his cock, her palms pounding the floor.

“So -- so -- good!  _ Ben! _ ” He pulls out at the last, rolling her onto her back, jerking his hand over his cock until his come drips onto her bare stomach. 

Rolling onto his side, he idly smears the come into her skin as he rests his head against her breasts.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, threading her fingers through his hair.

“I’m yours.”

No Light. No Dark. Just them.


End file.
